


To Lean and Rest Upon

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I am doing my job. Protecting you, sir."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undone, Undone!

**Author's Note:**

> Stand-alone, set between S3 and S4

_The heart which, like a staff, was one  
For mine to lean and rest upon,   
The strongest on the longest day   
With steadfast love, is caught away,   
And yet my days go on, go on._ __

\- from _De Profundis_ , by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861

 

 

****

“Tell me they got it wrong, sir!” Hathaway storms into the office, breathing heavily, rattled as Lewis has only ever seen him once before. He slams the door behind him. The blinds all around clatter, and Lewis’s desk actually shakes. “You can’t be planning to go-”

“It’s the only way, Sergeant.” Lewis slides off his jacket and hangs it on his desk. He’s actually surprised at how calm he feels, how his hands aren’t remotely shaking. “Mallory’s already killed two people who got in his way, and now he’s taken the boy hostage. He’ll only stop if he gets me.”

“ _Kills_ you, you mean, sir.” Hathaway’s visibly shaking, and his voice is unsteady. “I can’t let you do it.” He turns and closes the blinds.

“You don’t have any say in the matter.” Lewis’s tone is rougher than he’d like it to be, but Hathaway getting all worked up and emotional won’t help one bit. He undoes the top buttons of his shirt and pulls it over his head, about to reach for the body armour Hooper brought in a few minutes ago.

It’s possible that Hathaway might be exaggerating with his talk of Mallory wanting to kill him, but it’s a conclusion Lewis himself has also reached, given what Mallory’s reported to have said about the officers who arrested him. Not that he has any intention of making an easy target of himself – but he has acknowledged the possibility that he might not come out of this alive. Which, all right, is why he’d hoped to be out of here before Hathaway got back from Records.

 _If I don’t come back_ speeches aren’t his thing. Never have been, either from him or anyone else. He didn’t want it from Morse either when they were in Australia that time and Morse insisted on facing their target alone. Besides, too many people he’s known haven’t come back. Speeches didn’t help him then.

James strides over and picks up the armour, holding it out of reach. “Sir, please listen to me.”

“Sergeant! Give me that.” Lewis glares at Hathaway. “Stop acting like a child and do your job!”

“I am doing my job.” Abruptly, Hathaway’s tone is very quiet. “Protecting you, sir.”

One glance at Hathaway’s almost desperate expression and Lewis’s anger subsides. “You can’t. Come on, you’ve seen what he’s capable of. He almost killed his own kiddies, remember! I’m the only one who can stop him killing anyone else. I put him away and he wants revenge.”

“ _We_ put him away,” Hathaway says, his voice now utterly deadpan. “And I’m the one who threatened to drop him from the tower. Let me go instead.”

“ _You_ – No.” Robbie finds himself reaching for the edge of his desk, leaning on it for support as a vision of his sergeant – _James_ – struck down by a bullet fills his head. No way he’s letting Hathaway take that risk, even if together the two of them do take risks every day in the job they do. There are risks, and there are almost-definitely-going-to-get-hurt-or-killed situations.

“No chance.” He sighs, suddenly weary. “Let’s not do this, Hathaway. You know what’s what. I’m old. I’m close to retirement. What’s it matter? You’re young, you’ve got your whole life in front of you-”

“And you’ve got a son and a daughter who think the world of you, sir,” Hathaway interrupts, and the emotion’s back in his voice. “It’s not that long since they lost their mother. How do you think they’d feel if they lost you too?”

He thought Hathaway knew better than to refer to Val’s death unless it’s absolutely necessary. For a moment, Lewis wants to snap back at the man, but he restrains himself. Hathaway does have a point – Lyn, at least, would be devastated.

He forces an upbeat note into his voice. “Might not come to that. Don’t intend it to, anyway.”

“And it might. You said it yourself. Mallory’s capable of anything. He murdered his wife, was willing to kill her daughters-” Of course, the girls were Mallory’s wife’s children, not his own. “-and now he’s threatening to shoot his own son unless he gets one of us instead.” Hathaway lifts his hands in a helpless gesture. “It should be me, sir. I don’t have family – unlike you. There’s no-one to miss me.”

He’s suspected it for a long time, but it’s the first time that Hathaway’s confirmed his lack of family. Damn it, how can he have worked with the lad for more than four years and never known the details?

“I’d miss you,” he growls before he can think better of it. “Get out of me way, lad. I’ve got to get going an’ I need to get dressed.”

Hathaway moves, but towards Lewis, not away from him. Before Robbie can even begin to guess at his intentions, he’s handcuffed Robbie to his own chair. “I’m sorry, sir,” Hathaway says as he begins to strip off his own clothes. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Bloody well let me go!” He tries to struggle, but it’s no use. Hathaway knows what he’s doing, and the cuffs are secure. Damn. _Shit_. How could he have let this happen?

“Can’t.” James fastens the – for him, oversized – body armour, then puts his shirt back on over it.

“If you survive this, I’ll have your warrant card, Sergeant!”

“As long as you’re safe, sir, I don’t care,” Hathaway says, pushing his tie into place and reaching for his jacket. He crosses to Robbie, picking up the tie Robbie discarded on his desk a few minutes earlier. “I apologise for this, sir,” he adds, then stuffs it into Robbie’s mouth.

  
Seconds later, Hathaway walks out of the office, closing the door behind him. Robbie can just about hear him say to the officers outside, “Change of plan. I’m going instead of Inspector Lewis. He’ll monitor things from here.” A brief pause. “Right, can we get a move on?”

Trapped, gagged, all Robbie can do is kick at his desk, making as much noise as possible, but no-one hears.

 

***

“What was he thinking?” Robbie exclaims as Innocent, summoned and briefed by Hooper, hurries into the office.

“I would have thought you’d know that best,” Innocent comments, shaking her head as she looks at Robbie. He grits his teeth and curses Hathaway again, leaving him to be stared at by his boss while he’s still trussed up like a turkey. Of course Hathaway had to use his own handcuffs, so that they’d have to go and search for a master key.

And that’s after he’s spent the last five minutes making as much noise with his feet as possible, trying to attract attention. It wasn’t until he finally managed to spit out the tie and shout for help that a couple of DCs ran in.

“Sodding idiot, that’s what he is.” It’s a long time since Robbie’s felt anything like this helpless. Where’s Hathaway now? Has he got to where Mallory’s holed himself up yet? Is he even still alive? “Are there no updates yet?” he shouts at DC Watson, who’s hovering just outside the door. “Don’t bloody just stand around doin’ nothing!”

“Actually,” Innocent comments, perching on the edge of Robbie’s desk, “I’d say it was very courageous of Sergeant Hathaway.”

“Foolhardy, more like.” Fucking hell, where’s Hooper with that key? He needs to be out of here, catching up with his idiot sergeant before he does something even more stupid. “Nobody asked him to be a damned hero. What good’ll it do anyone if he gets himself killed over this?”

“I didn’t mean taking your place.” Innocent looks straight at him, and it’s with one of those looks that always makes him uncomfortable. “I mean risking your anger.” She smiles slightly. “He’s come a long way from the anxious young man who had to ask my advice about telling you about Simon Monkford a few months ago.”

Courageous? No, that wasn’t courage he saw in Hathaway’s expression as the lad overpowered him. It was recklessness – the look of a man who truly didn’t care about his own safety.

And that’s what worries Robbie most of all, because that’s the kind of man who won’t take enough care to avoid getting himself killed.

Hooper comes pounding back in, key in hand, and after fumbling around for what seems like an age but is probably only a few seconds Robbie’s finally free. He stands, flexing and rubbing his wrists to get the circulation back; he’ll have bruises later – something else to lay at Hathaway’s door – but for now all that matters is that he’s finally able to leave.

“Lewis.” He’s halfway to the door when Innocent’s voice makes him turn back.

“I’m in a hurry, ma’am.”

“I’m coming with you.” His heart sinks, but he knows that expression she’s giving him. She won’t be argued with any more than Hathaway would earlier.

“Sir?” Watson’s in his path as he enters the main squadroom. “What can we do?”

“Find out what’s happening,” he snaps – how many times does he have to ask for a simple report? “Keep me updated until I get there meself.”

He barely waits for Innocent to get into the Vauxhall before the engine’s running and he’s slamming into first gear, the siren already on. The rational side of his brain’s telling him that he needs to _breathe_ , think this through, come up with a strategy that’s more than just getting to the condemned house in Blackbird Leys that’s Mallory’s hideout as soon as possible and somehow stopping Hathaway from making a martyr of himself.

“Robbie.” Judging by the impatience in his boss’s voice, it’s not the first time Innocent’s spoken to him.

“Sorry, ma’am. What?”

“What’s the plan?”

“Um.” He swallows. “I don’t exactly have one at the moment. Ma’am.”

“I never would have guessed.” Her tone’s dry enough to make him need a drink. “What was the plan before your sergeant pulled that little trick with his handcuffs?”

Robbie groans inwardly; regardless of what happens now out in Blackbird Leys, he knows he’ll never live this down. Cuffed to his chair by his own sergeant. With a deep breath, he refocuses. “As you know, Mallory’s trapped and surrounded by an ART, but he’s got an eleven-year-old boy hostage inside the house. He told the negotiator that he’ll surrender the boy if his arresting officer comes to the scene, unarmed and alone. That was the plan.”

“What, exchange yourself for the child?”

Robbie focuses on the road ahead, trying to keep his eyes on the heavy rush-hour traffic that’s not moving out of his way, siren or no siren, instead of seeing Hathaway walking unarmed into a burned-out house. “If necessary. More likely just try to talk him into giving himself up. Worked before, remember.”

“I remember what you two did before,” Innocent replies, an edge to her voice. “But what no-one’s told me so far is what Mallory’s doing in Blackbird Leys in the first place, instead of in HMP Wandsworth. And how on earth did he manage to get to the boy?”

“He was being transferred,” Lewis explains. “He’d somehow managed to convince Her Majesty’s finest in the Prison Service that he was trustworthy enough to be moved to a Cat C prison. Bided his time, then overpowered his escort, and stole his gun while he was at it. Shot the guard when he tried to fight back.”

“Fantastic.” With that one word, Robbie knows an incendiary – though still diplomatically worded; Innocent’s nothing if not a politician – memo will be making its way to the Home Office once all this is over.

“We’re not sure yet how he made his way back to Oxford, but what we do know is that he kidnapped the boy, Lucas Hayward – who is his natural son, by the way – from the school playground earlier today. The alarm was raised and a search started for him, but it was too risky to get close to him once he had Lucas. One officer tried – that’s the second person Mallory killed.”

And now Hathaway’s putting himself in the line of fire with a man who’s clearly not of sound mind, as well as very likely seeing himself as having nothing to lose. His wife’s dead – at his own hands – and he’s lost his children, all four of them, to his former wife and his ex-business partner. Traffic’s clearing ahead; Robbie floors the accelerator. Eight minutes to their destination.

Beside him, Innocent’s talking on her phone. It’s Watson back at HQ, but he can’t hear enough of the conversation to work out what’s happening. She mentions Hathaway twice, but the rest is just a combination of yeses and nos and one-word questions.

Finally, she ends the call. “Nothing much to report, Robbie. James is there, all right, and Mallory’s still in the house. The boy’s parents are there as well, which is unfortunate, though they’re being kept out of the way by a couple of family liaison officers.”

“What?” He frowns. “David and Louise Hayward? How the hell did they find out where Mallory is?”

“Apparently, the WPC who was supporting them at their home forgot to mute her radio. The location came over loud and clear.”

Robbie growls in frustration. _“Beginner’s_ mistake!”

“For which she will be reprimanded. But later.”

“An’ what about Hathaway?”

With a note of impatience in her voice, Innocent replies, “As you could no doubt imagine, the team on the ground is briefing him before he starts negotiations.”

“Before he starts? Aren’t they stopping him?” Incredulous, he takes his eyes off the road for a moment to stare at his boss. They’re still at least six minutes away.

Innocent exhales loudly. “Robbie, I know that you’re worried for your sergeant, but don’t you think you should give him some credit? He’s had a lot of experience in some very difficult situations, including – as you’ve pointed out yourself – preventing Hugh Mallory from killing himself previously. You seem to be the only person who doesn’t have confidence that Hathaway can handle this situation.”

“Ma’am-” _You didn’t see his face when he walked out_ , he wants to say, but he’s got no actual evidence that Hathaway’s got any kind of a death-wish here, or that he’s at the very least likely to be careless with his life. And to say anything like that to the Chief Super would risk what’s left of the lad’s career, assuming he comes out of this alive.

Anyway, he _is_ exaggerating. It’s not a death-wish that Hathaway’s got. It’s a completely illogical, quixotic desire to prevent his _boss_ from potentially getting killed – by potentially getting killed himself.

And what the bloody hell has he ever done to engender that kind of gesture from James?

“I have complete faith that Hathaway will do every bit as good a job as you could, Inspector Lewis,” Innocent says, her tone sharp. “That’s not to say I’m happy about the methods he resorted to in order to be the one doing it, but that can wait. For now, we have a child to rescue and a murderer to put back behind bars. So, if you don’t mind, keep your attention on the road and not on your sergeant, who is more than capable of looking after himself.”

 

***

Is Innocent actually suggesting that he doesn’t have confidence in Hathaway? That’s rubbish. Complete and utter-

But if he’s automatically discounting the possibility of James actually managing to _handle_ this situation and come out of it alive, doesn’t that follow?

Five minutes away, and he’s at traffic lights having to navigate around drivers who don’t know how to behave when a vehicle with a siren approaches. Hathaway’s not reckless, he reminds himself – though it’s true that when he’s distracted, or emotionally overwrought for personal reasons, his judgement can be affected. That’s how he ends up doing things like getting drugged and almost burned to death.

Overwrought. Robbie’s lips twist at the irony; that’s a description that, right now, doesn’t just apply to Hathaway. And why? Because he really thinks James can’t handle this?

Four minutes. Robbie’s hands tighten on the wheel again, but he forces himself to calm, to think through what he knows, and what he thinks to be true. And what it boils down to is what he was certain as soon as he got the call that Mallory was holding Lucas hostage pending his own appearance on the scene: Mallory’s angry enough, twisted enough, to want his revenge in the life-blood of the officer who saw through his lies and deception and put him away for murder.

He knew that, knew that there was a possibility that he might not come away from the encounter alive, or that at best he could be wounded, and he agreed to go anyway. A child’s life is at stake, so there was no question.

So... because he might end up getting killed, Hathaway stopped him. And now, because Hathaway might end up getting killed, he’s trying to stop Hathaway. It’s a little bit ridiculous, really.

Although... maybe a bit useful? A way of distracting Mallory if the two of them start arguing the toss in front of him?

Three minutes. And they’re on open road now and he can floor it. Two minutes.

“Hathaway’s got Mallory talking, apparently.” Innocent’s back on the phone. “He hasn’t gone into the house yet, though Mallory is demanding that he does. No sign of the boy so far, and the marksmen don’t have a clear shot.”

“Right.” The response is automatic. He’s in the Leys now, and almost at the right street.

“You do understand, Robbie, that I won’t let you pull Hathaway out just because you’re here? If he’s making progress, we have to let him see it through.”

Damn it. This is exactly why he didn’t want Innocent along. He could do without that kind of interference – _he’s_ Hathaway’s governor and he’s entitled to order his sergeant off the case if he wants to.

The road’s blocked off, though the barrier’s pulled aside as he pulls up, and he drives through with barely an acknowledgement for the officer who lets him past. And there’s the house, surrounded by squad cars and with several uniformed officers standing in the road. Just an ordinary terraced ex-council house, barely more than two up, two down, with boarded-up windows, and the front door slightly ajar.

Standing behind a police Jeep, there’s David and Louise Hayward, both looking drawn and frantic. Not surprising, of course. He’d be the same if his boy was inside with a known killer.

But where’s his... His _sergeant_?

Robbie’s gaze swivels, and there he is. Halfway up the garden path, with an officer in riot gear on either side of him. He’s calling out something; Robbie just about hears, “...Lucas go. I’m the one you want. I’m the one you’ve hated ever since we arrested you.”

Innocent’s hand lands on Robbie’s arm as he’s telling himself to shut up and stay back; if Mallory really is as volatile as everything suggests, anything unexpected could make him panic and start shooting. “Don’t interfere.”

  
He stifles an exasperated look. “Wasn’t gonna.”

Hathaway’s words are sticking in his brain for some reason, even as he stares, every nerve on edge and his stomach churning, at Hathaway who’s now taking steady steps closer to the front door. _I’m the one you’ve hated..._

But was it the two of them, him and Hathaway, that Mallory hated? Oh, he was scornful. Contemptuous. But the person he really hated, the one he blamed for ruining his marriage and his life, was David Hayward, wasn’t it?

And it’s Hayward’s adopted son he’s kidnapped...

Hathaway reaches the front door.

It opens a few more inches, revealing Mallory with a gun pressed to young Lucas Hayward’s forehead.

Hathaway steps forward, hands up in the traditional _unarmed_ signal.

Mallory, in a lightning-fast move, switches the gun to Hathaway’s temple and presses his arm across Lucas’s neck, pinning the boy back against the door-jamb. Clever; if Hathaway tries anything, it’ll be a toss-up whether he gets shot or Lucas gets his windpipe crushed.

Lewis feels sick inside. Helpless. There’s absolutely nothing he can do but watch, and any second now he could be looking at Hathaway’s head turning to red mist and brain matter...

Robbie swallows, forces away the image of his partner – his _friend_ – murdered right in front of him, and _concentrates_. What’s really going on here?

“You’ve got me. Let him go.” Hathaway’s voice is completely, impressively calm.

But, no, it’s not really Hathaway Mallory wants, is it? It’s all painfully clear now.

“Come and get him, David,” Mallory calls, and it’s just what Robbie’s expecting.

He swings around towards Hayward; shouts, “Don’t move!”

But Hayward’s already running towards his son.

Mallory’s turning, shifting the gun away from Hathaway’s forehead and aiming.

Robbie breaks into a run, intercepting Hayward and knocking him over just as the sharp, terrible report of a gun firing reverberates around.

 

***

In the end, it’s all a bit of an anti-climax.

Mallory’s bullet is wide of the mark anyway, and slams harmlessly into the tyre of a squad car.

In the second after Mallory fires, Hathaway overpowers and disarms him. He restrains Mallory in a classic move straight out of training school, at the same time urging Lucas to get to safety. Hayward, scrambling to his feet, is there to hold his son, his wife making up the triangle seconds later. And Robbie’s left to watch as his sergeant, unharmed and the hero of the hour, escorts Mallory out of the house and into the custody of several uniformed officers.

And then Hathaway’s walking towards him, a faint swagger in his step that Robbie knows is all about pretending he’s not one bit embarrassed, or worried about his boss’s reaction to what he did.

“Good result, James,” Innocent says before Robbie can say a word. “Not that it excuses your... unorthodox means of getting yourself here,” she adds, which instantly wipes away the brief smile that Innocent’s compliment had earned. “But I’ll leave that to Inspector Lewis.”

Too right, Robbie agrees silently, giving James a glare. Not here. There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t it.

“Get yourself back to the station, Sergeant,” he instructs, his tone clipped. “I’ll deal with you there.”

“Sir,” Hathaway replies, indicating obedience, but Robbie’s already turning away, stalking back to his car. Innocent, clearly thinking better of travelling with him right now, goes instead to a uniformed officer to commandeer a lift.

Doesn’t matter that Hathaway did do a good job: that Mallory’s under arrest, Hathaway’s safe and nobody else got hurt. He still broke any number of regulations, and possibly a couple of laws as well – false imprisonment, at least, not to mention assault. There’s gonna be hell to pay when he gets the bloke back to the station.

 

***

<i>tbc</i>


	2. Steadfast Love

“I could arrest you, you know that? Charge you. I could make a good enough case that you’d serve time.”

Standing straight and tall, his long face expressionless, Hathaway’s only response to Robbie’s furious, loudly-voiced threat behind the closed door of their shared office is “Sir.”

“Even if I decided to be lenient, you committed gross misconduct. Broke several regulations. Want me to give you chapter and verse?”

“If you need to, sir. I am very much aware of the specific regulations, sir. I was fully aware of them when I broke them.” Still no reaction, and no hint of an apology.

Robbie paces up and down the small office.

“This’d be dismissal. You should be on suspension right now, even if I did decide to ignore the criminal charges.”

James reaches into his jacket pocket and produces his warrant card, then lays it on Robbie’s desk. “It’s worth it.”

Which is something like what he said right at the start, isn’t it? _As long as you’re safe, sir, I don’t care._ Looks like he meant it. Does the job mean that little to Hathaway? Yet Robbie’s well aware that’s not true.

Some of the uniforms and DCs think Hathaway was playing the hero, out for the glory of defusing a critical situation. But he wasn’t, and that was never his motive. Robbie knows that – knew it all along.

The only reason James did what he did – risked everything he did: his career, his freedom, his _life_ – was to protect his boss. No matter how wrong or unnecessary that was.

“Should I clear out my desk, sir?”

Even as James asks the question, Robbie’s rage is gone, drained away, replaced with weary relief. “You could’ve been killed.”

“So could you, sir.” The words are softly spoken and at last there’s a hint of emotion in James’s voice.

“It’s not your place to-”

“I’ll apologise for hurting you, sir, and for any embarrassment my handcuffing you to your chair caused,” James says, now more matter-of-fact. “But I won’t apologise for preventing you from putting yourself at that kind of risk.”

“That’s not your decision, Sergeant!” Robbie slaps his hand down on his desk. That’s what he should care about here, after all, isn’t it? The multiple breaches of regulations, the disciplinary code, the example of insubordination Hathaway’s just set for his juniors.

He sighs, returning to his desk and sitting down. “Get back to work, Sergeant.” He picks up Hathaway’s warrant card and lobs it at him.

James stares, jaw slackened. “But... aren’t you having me suspended?”

“Does this look like I am?”

Hathaway puts his warrant card away. “There’ll still be a disciplinary panel, though, of course.” It’s not a question, though it should be.

Robbie pulls a stack of files across his desk towards him. “Just get back to work. There’s enough time been wasted on this as it is.”

He’s not going to recommend disciplinary action, and he’ll defend his decision to Innocent if she asks, which she will. He’ll deal with this in his own way.

“You can start by sorting the contents of Phillipson’s bins and entering it all into evidence,” he comments casually, maintaining eye contact with Hathaway and practically daring the lad to show any kind of reaction. Messy job, this one – filthy, in fact. Phillipson poured slurry over his bins to try to prevent the police from searching them.

Hathaway simply nods, expressionless. “Yes, sir.”

 

***

Two hours later, as it’s starting to get dark outside - it’s a blustery evening in the dying days of September – Hathaway sticks his head around the door into their shared office. He’s been working in the main squadroom; Robbie didn’t want the stink in his area.

“Finished, sir. Permission to get cleaned up?”

He does look a bit of a mess, and that’s rare. His hair’s too short to be anything other than immaculate, but his jacket’s off, his tie askew and his pale grey shirt’s covered in smudges.

“What, knock off early?” Robbie twists his wrist to glance at his watch. It’s not far off seven. But then, he’s the one who gets to decide what’s early.

“Quick run to the showers downstairs,” Hathaway explains. “I have a spare shirt here.”

Robbie just nods, deliberately turning his attention back to the file he’s reading.

James doesn’t immediately leave. “Sir?”

Robbie pauses, then gives Hathaway one of his patented exasperated looks. “What?”

“You are recommending disciplinary action, aren’t you? Just so I know what to expect when Chief Superintendent Innocent summons me, sir.” The tone’s all studied casualness, one of Hathaway’s deliberate disguises – but he can’t hide the faint twitch in his jaw, or the way he stares fixedly at a spot somewhere behind Robbie’s head instead of looking him in the eye.

Lewis allows several seconds’ silence before replying. “I should.”

Hathaway’s eyes widen. He’s sensible enough to say nothing.

Robbie waves a hand in a _get out of here_ gesture. “Just don’t do it again.”

Ten minutes later, Hathaway’s back, cleanly scrubbed and shoulders stooped, hovering in the doorway. “What’s next, sir?”

Ah, he does know he’s being punished – though of course he does. He’s a bloody good detective, and this doesn’t take much detecting. “Get your coat.” Robbie stands, shuts down his computer, and reaches for his own overcoat.

“A callout?”

“Nah. You’re buyin’ me a pint. Or more than one, if I feel like it.”

James’s resigned expression shows he’s convinced that this is part two of the bollocking. Honestly, an hour ago that would have been precisely Robbie’s intention, but now he’s not so sure. He’d be happiest if they could both just forget about it and get back to normal.

Though the fact that he’s barely been able to concentrate on his paperwork for the last couple of hours is making it very hard to resume normality. Difficult to forget what happened today when all he can see in his head is James with a gun held to his temple.

He stalks out of the office. “Come on. An’ you’re drivin’, by the way.”

James falls into step behind him. “Of course I am, sir.”

 

***

They’re on their second round – pints for him, tonic water and lemon for Hathaway, who’s still on that health kick – when Robbie sighs, leans against the seat-back and says, “Hope to hell we never have a day like this again.”

James, who’s been awkwardly polite for the past hour and hasn’t even excused himself for a smoking break, the beer-garden not being open, visibly relaxes. His shoulders lower fractionally and his jaw becomes less rigid, and he cracks what’s just about a wry smile. “Me too, sir.”

They’re back to normal, and it’s a relief. Course, part of him’s still furious with Hathaway for taking the risk he did, but it’s over and done with – and, much as he’s trying not to be, he’s just bloody... _touched_ that the lad cares enough to go to those lengths to keep him alive. Even if he will kill Hathaway himself if he ever tries anything like that again.

Robbie drains his glass. “Go on, then.”

James quirks an eyebrow. “Another?”

They don’t usually stay for more than two, so his sergeant’s surprise is understandable. But Robbie’s in no hurry to leave, if James is willing to stick around. “I’ll get them in. You go an’ indulge your habit.” He’ll get the menus at the same time – it’s after eight, no wonder his stomach feels his throat’s been cut.

On second thoughts, it’s not as if he doesn’t know what James is likely to want. He’ll just order their food while he’s up there. Saves time that way.

 

***

“Meant it earlier, y’know.” Their empty plates pushed aside, Robbie takes a long draught of his pint, then stares down at his hands as if there’s something fascinating there. “Course, there’s the kids, but other than that, what is there? It’s not that I’m _looking_ to – I’d never – but if it came to it, if it were me or someone else, well... Not far off sixty, go home to an empty flat every night, and the closest thing I have to a best mate calls me _sir_ , even off duty.”

He reaches for his glass again, this time watching Hathaway out of the corner of his eye. He knows what he’s going to get, of course: either one of James’s chiding morality lectures, or a glare designed precisely to make him feel guilty for the rest of the night.

He gets neither. Hathaway starts, eyes widening in shock, and then he stares upwards for a long moment. Finally, he says, his voice soft, “You’ve never given me permission to call you anything else. Sir.”

Robbie stares, and the truth of Hathaway’s statement hits him. “I haven’t, have I? An’ you’re just the sort of stubborn bloke who’d insist on it.” He sighs, then takes another long drink. “Go on, then.”

James favours him with a bland look. Robbie sigh again in exasperation. Typical Hathaway; he’s going to make him spell it out. “James. Me name’s Robbie.”

“I know.” The _sir_ is clearly only just withheld, as is the smirk.

“Use it.”

James smiles, just that bare movement of lips that, on him, signifies genuine happiness. “Robbie.”

It’s got to be the drink that makes him think he feels a jolt when his name’s said in that smooth, posh voice of James’s. Only his imagination, got to be. It’s not as if he doesn’t hear James talking all day, is it?

And he’s talking again. “Since you brought it up, though I’m sure it’s just the three pints talking – you’re wrong. Admittedly, I’ve only heard your side of a few phone conversations, but your Lyn adores you. She’d be devastated if anything happened to you. And what about Dr Hobson?”

“What about her?” Yeah, it must’ve been the drink – did he have to get so bloody maudlin?

“Well, you’re friends, aren’t you? I’m pretty sure she’s... fond of you.”

Yeah, there’s truth in that. He and Laura are fond of each other. But, well... “It’s not her I’m sitting across from now, is it? And before you say it,” he adds, “I’m not saying I want it to be. Perfectly happy with the company I’ve got, thanks.”

He gets a wider smile this time. “Very glad to hear it, s- Robbie.” James sips his tonic water, then appears to come to a decision. “And, while it may be selfish, as your friend, I’d still rather it were someone other than you.”

Robbie has to think back to his earlier words to figure out James’s meaning; he definitely shouldn’t have had that third pint. “Yeah, got that message earlier, thanks,” he comments dryly. “Bein’ handcuffed to my chair made it pretty clear.”

James flushes slightly. “I apol-”

“Nah, that’s not why I said it. ‘S almost funny, now that it’s all over. Have to remember to tell Lyn, even though it’ll probably make her like you even more than she already says she does. Makes no sense, that.” He pulls a face. “She hasn’t even met you.”

“That’s exactly why she likes me.” James’s tone is that infuriatingly self-deprecating one that Robbie can never quite decipher: is Hathaway pulling his leg or is he serious?

He ignores it for now, gesturing at James with his pint glass. “Thing is, I don’t want it to be you either. You ask Innocent how I was when we were chasing after you to Blackbird Leys. Was terrified I’d get there and find Mallory’d killed you before I could stop him. And that’s nothing to how it felt seeing him hold that gun to your head, and me helpless.”

And he knows there’s no way he’d have said all that if he were completely sober. Probably regret saying it tomorrow, but there it is – it’s done now.

James’s jaw slackens. “I...” He swallows, then hesitantly stretches his hand across the table. His fingertips touch the back of Robbie’s hand, a fleeting gesture, gone almost before the touch registers. Robbie finds he’s resisting the urge to touch James in return. “I didn’t realise.”

“What, thought you’d nobody to care about you, lad? When did you lose your parents?”

It’s instantly obvious that James would rather be held at gunpoint again than answer the question. He glances at his watch. “Oh, is that the time, sir? I really ought to be-”

“Nice try, but I’ve never heard you so unconvincing as long as I’ve known you.” Robbie leans back, crosses his arms and fixes his gaze on James. “Besides, you’re forgetting something.”

“Oh?” Hathaway’s still fidgeting.

“You, designated driver. Me, no transport and very likely over the limit. You’re not gonna leave me stranded, now, are you?”

“I could call you a taxi...” James produces his phone.

“I let you get away with that the first day we met. But only because it was the first day we met.” Robbie drains his glass. “You want to go, we’ll go, but you’re responsible for getting me home.”

James snorts. “The lot of a sergeant.”

“Away, man! Off-duty. Nah, it’s what mates do for each other.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m too drunk to drive, Robbie,” James comments dryly, getting to his feet. “I do have you on speed-dial, after all.”

 

***

“You’re coming in for coffee,” Robbie says as James pulls up outside his flat. It’s not a question.

James turns to look at him, expression suspiciously bland. “Am I to understand, then, that in this off-duty mates thing we’re doing now you still give me orders and I still follow them? I’m not saying I mind, I just need to know what to expect.”

Robbie shrugs. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” James switches off the engine and opens his door.

Robbie comes alongside him as they climb the steps, and he pats James on the back. “Glad you see it my way.”

“Always, sir.”

Robbie unlocks the door. “What’d I say about bein’ off-duty?”

“Call you Robbie and continue obeying instructions.”

“Exactly.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Robbie gives James an exasperated look, in response to which he gets a smug smirk. “One of these days...” He shakes his head. “Just for that, you can make the coffee.”

“I’d probably better. I’m not the one who had three pints in the space of two hours.”

In the kitchen, James fills the kettle, pulling a face as he does so. “Instant coffee. I’ve really got to get you a cafetiere.”

“What’s one o’ them when it’s at home?”

James gives him a disbelieving look. Robbie grins at him. “Gotcha. My turn to wind you up for a change.”

“Well, I don’t know, do I? You’ve only started to appreciate decent coffee since you’ve had me around.”

“If you’d been in the force for the past thirty years, like I have, you’d have got used to drinking any kind of sludge so long as it was at least lukewarm.”

James shudders. “You know, I can cope with digging through people’s stinky rubbish – even diving into a lake of crap full of vicious knives. But bad coffee? That’d be enough to make me hand in my papers.”

“You’re just too fussy, you are. Spoilt.” Robbie gets out the mugs and a spoon. Together, as if they’ve been doing this for years, they work around each other to make the coffee, and in minutes Robbie’s leading the way to the sofa.

“Right, then.” He sets his mug on the table. “Hope you didn’t think you were getting away with avoiding my question. Your parents?”

James puts his own coffee down, then throws his head back against the sofa-back, staring up at the ceiling. “I know how this is going to go, don’t I? You’ll keep asking, I’ll keep saying no, and you’ll keep coming up with more and more wild theories-”

“Educated guesses.”

“Baseless speculation.”

“Evidence-based deductions.”

James’s lips thin. Then, finally, he says, “I don’t suppose it’ll do any good if I tell you I really don’t want to talk about this?”

Robbie turns sideways, towards him. “I’m not asking just to be nosy. I’d hope you realise that.”

After a moment, James sighs. “I do. Damn. All right. But I’m only doing it under sufferance, and because I know you’re too drunk to remember it later.”

“You’re joking, man!” Robbie’s eyes widen and he gives James a disbelieving look. “You really think three pints – over dinner, what’s more – has me that incapable? Newcastle bloke, me. I can hold me drink, unlike you soft Southern lads.”

James smirks. “I should make you try to walk in a straight line.”

“I could do it. But I know what you’re up to, and it won’t work. Answer the question.”

Instantly, James sobers. “Fine. The first thing you need to know, and I’m not saying any more than that, is that I never had a good relationship with my parents. And I’m only telling you that much so you can understand that I don’t need sympathy. So. My parents died in a car crash the year I did A-levels.”

Which he’d have found out if he’d ever looked up records. Not that he would’ve, and at least this way James knows he didn’t. But... god. “You’d have been seventeen, eighteen?”

“Sixteen at the time. I was on an accelerated track. I’d just turned seventeen when I sat my A-levels.”

Orphaned at sixteen. _Hell_. “And did you have any other family?”

“No.” James is staring straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away, his tone completely matter-of-fact. “You’re imagining Social Services getting involved. I was sixteen, so I had quite a bit of say in the matter. The school was willing to take some responsibility, and I was going up to Cambridge in the autumn so long as I got the grades I needed, so it wasn’t a problem. I hadn’t gone home for holidays in quite a while anyway, by choice, so nothing really changed very much.”

Robbie can only stare at James; so many questions buzzing around in his brain he doesn’t even know where to start. And everything James has said so far... _I never had a good relationship with my parents; I don’t need sympathy; hadn’t gone home for holidays; nothing really changed very much_... What the hell were his parents like? Why this obvious estrangement?

He wants to ask, to find out everything James isn’t telling him, but he won’t. James has made his feelings clear and Robbie will respect that for now. That’s not to say he won’t hope – or actually try – to find out the rest some other time, but not tonight.

“Robbie.” James has turned towards him now, and he’s wearing his fake _I’m all right_ expression. “I can imagine what you’re thinking. Sometimes...” James shakes his head, and there’s frustrated impatience in his eyes. “Not all families are like yours. Not all parents are like you and your wife.” He’s almost shouting now. “To some of us, family’s not something we have any reason to care about.”

“Aw, hell, James.” Robbie badly wants to reach out and touch Hathaway; just a simple gesture of human contact, to show him that the love and concern for his welfare that he clearly missed out on growing up is important, and it’s something he can have if he wants. Already has. To make up in some small way for people who clearly didn’t deserve to be parents. But everything in James’s body language is saying – shouting – that he doesn’t want touch, doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want any of it. “James,” he begins again, then stops. Has no idea what he wants to say, or what he could say that James would listen to.

“What does it even _matter_?” James asks, voice still raised.

“At all? Or to me specifically?”

“Either!”

“It matters because no-one should have to have the kind of beginning you’re hinting at. An’, yes, you don’t need to remind me that it happens all the time. I’ve been in this job a lot longer than you have, an’ I’ve seen things I hope you never have to see. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever think it’s okay for kids not to have a loving family and safe environment to grow up in. And to me...” He pauses, waiting until James meets his gaze. “After today, you really need to ask?”

The fight’s gone out of James now. “No. Well...” He rubs a hand over his face. “What I can’t figure out is why.”

Robbie raises an eyebrow. “Could ask you the same question, couldn’t I? But do we have to? Can’t we just accept that that’s the way it is?”

James stands abruptly. Arms wrapped protectively around himself, he’s looking more closed-off than Robbie’s ever seen him. “I’m not looking for a father-figure.”

Ah. Well, this one’s easy. “Just as well, ‘cause I’m not offering to be one. Got two kids of me own already, thanks.”

_Didn’t expect that, did you, lad?_

James blinks, and his posture relaxes. “All right. But why, then?” He exhales. “I know I’m difficult to work with. I know that, and I still don’t make allowances. I piss you off every single day we work together. I insult you and show off my superior intelligence, and you still cover for me with Innocent and don’t take advantage of a perfect opportunity to be rid of me. Why?”

Robbie snorts. “That’s easy. Call yourself a detective? I don’t want rid of you.” Casually, he reaches for his coffee and drinks. “Insulting me and showing off your intelligence? You’ve got nothing on Morse, and I managed to work with him for fifteen years.”

That gets a smile. “Masochist.”

“Nah. Just good at seeing beneath the surface. You’re a good bloke, James. God knows why, but I like you. Wouldn’t call you me friend otherwise.” He sets his empty mug back on the table. “You told me what you don’t want. What do you want?”

James perches on the edge of the coffee-table. His expression’s serious now, but not hiding anything. “You really want to know?”

“Course I do. Wouldn’t have asked.”

There’s a pause, as if James is considering whether he really wants to say what’s on his mind. Then he nods, just once. “Be very sure about this, Robbie.”

It’s not his sergeant speaking. It’s not Hathaway the smart-alec. This is someone else entirely, a side of James Robbie’s only ever glimpsed.

And, at the same time, something’s changed in the room. It’s like a different atmosphere suddenly, like...

_Oh._

He’s been barking up the wrong tree about this for a while, hasn’t he? Making the wrong assumptions about James – and about himself. Assuming that because of his age, or because of his gender, James wouldn’t...

Well. Been a bit thick, really, hasn’t he? Zoe Kenneth and Fiona McKendrick aside, it’s not as if he hasn’t suspected James might be attracted to men. And if James had been a woman, he’d have seen what he’s seeing now long ago.

There’ve been plenty of clues, too, especially lately. All that jokey flirting, the banter about needing to break up with him if James was going to stay with Fiona, about the two of them stuck with each other.

Okay. It’s not as if he’s never had to deal with a younger officer with a crush before. A bit of tact, a bit of rough kindness; he can let the bloke down lightly and they need never mention it–

Robbie stops himself just in time. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a hypocrite, and the least he can do is be honest with himself and with James. This isn’t one-sided, and he won’t patronise James by suggesting that it’s no more than a crush. If James’s pulse is racing anything like as rapidly as his is, if James’s nerves are tingling and his stomach doing somersaults...

He leans forward and lays his hand on James’s knee. “I want to know.”

James takes a deep breath, then takes Robbie’s face between his hands and kisses him.

 

***

What’s most surprising about the kiss is how little difference there is between being kissed a woman and by a man – and how easy it is to kiss back.

Robbie never in his life before questioned his sexuality. He likes women. Loves women. Wants sex with women. Yet now there’s... this. There’s James.

Maybe it’s not a question of being one thing or the other. Maybe that’s what James was trying to tell him that day in the car – took him long enough to figure that out, didn’t it? Maybe sometimes it’s the person, not the gender.

That’s got to be it, because what he’s feeling right now is definitely, indisputably attraction – physical as well as emotional. And the weirdest thing about it is how right it feels.

James breaks the kiss, sitting back and studying him, head tilted to one side. “Well, you didn’t threaten me with violence. That seems like a positive sign.”

Robbie raises an eyebrow. “There’s still time.” At James’s wary look, he shakes his head. “Be a bit stupid, that, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t all you just now.”

“No. I... I did notice that.” James runs a hand over the back of his head. “I have to say I’m surprised. Relieved, too, of course, but – yes, surprised.”

“Makes two of us.” James’s brows draw together, and Robbie reaches out to touch his hand. “It’s fine. I just never imagined, before tonight. Should have, though. It’s not as if you haven’t been making it bloody obvious.”

“What?” The alarm on James’s face makes Robbie squeeze his hand.

“Probably only to me, an’ I only put it all together a few minutes ago. Fiona McKendrick aside, you’ve been flirting with me non-stop for the last few months. All those digs about us bein’ a couple, and how you’d have to break up wi’ me to be with her. You even joked to Laura about us bein’ married.” He shakes his head. “Call meself a detective. Should’ve figured it out long ago.”

“I think I’m glad you didn’t. I’m not sure how receptive you’d have been before.” James tangles his fingers with Robbie’s.

“Probably not very. Dunno. I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” He leans forward and kisses James lightly. “But are you sure about this? I mean, I am your boss. And, regulations aside, I could’ve had you dismissed today. Or suspended.”

James’s smile is knowing. “You were never going to.”

“I was angry enough to,” Robbie admits.

“But you wouldn’t have done it. That’s why you had me drive back to base separately.”

“Your car was there!”

“Yeah, and anyone could have driven that back for me. You wanted to give yourself time to cool off before talking to me.”

Robbie raises an eyebrow. “Took you long enough to work that out. In the office, you thought I was recommending disciplinary action.”

“And I’d have deserved it. That’s got nothing to do with this.”

Robbie nods. “You can compartmentalise like that?” James nods. “You’re gonna need to if we’re gonna do this. Be hard enough keeping this a secret anyway, but I can’t do me job if I have to worry about how you’ll react if I need to make you do something you don’t like, or tear a strip off you for some reason. The only other solution – if you’re sure this is what you want – is to have you transferred to another inspector.”

“No.” James tenses up. “I don’t want that. I want to keep working with you.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and holds Robbie’s gaze. “I asked to work with you when we’d only known each other a few days. I had very good reasons then and nothing’s changed since. You’re the only senior officer I want to work with.”

“Can’t say I want to go to the trouble of breakin’ in a new sergeant.” Robbie lets his face relax into a smile. “Don’t want to, either. You’re a good copper and a bloody good partner, even if you do go off half-cocked sometimes. I’m still deciding if I’ll give you your handcuffs back.”

For a moment, James struggles to keep a straight face, and then he bursts out laughing. “I didn’t suspect you were into kinky games, sir, but if that’s your preference I’m sure I could accommodate you.”

“Oi!” Robbie pulls his hand away from James’s and swipes him across the bicep. “You got one shot at cuffing me, and that’s your lot. If there’s gonna be any more restraining, it’ll be me doing it, you hear?”

James doesn’t answer. He’s too busy laughing.

 

**\- end**


End file.
